Washing machine
by DetectiveSilence
Summary: One-shot. Sherlock and John have not had a case in weeks. John decides to do some washing, with disastrous results.


**One-shot about everyday life. Or not so everyday life, knowing those two!  
Just a little idea. As you might notice, I like ****_Italics_**** and (brackets), so sorry if there's too much and it annoys you. But, yeah, that's me. Now go read the story, John POV style.**

John was bored. There had not been a proper case in weeks. There had been not one murder, suspicious suicide, missing person, kidnapping, unusual theft or anything strange and interesting in 3 whole weeks! The best thing they had had was a cheating wife and a stolen necklace, and they had barely registered a 2 with Sherlock. Not even a full 2!

Sherlock was currently lying on the sofa, 'thinking'. He had his hands in the 'thinking pose', his eyes were closed, and he had not moved or spoken in over 3 hours. Normally, John would have pestered Sherlock into doing something productive; like cleaning, or tidying up, or _eating_. But 3 weeks without a case had made them both incredibly irritable, and he didn't want another argument like _Tuesday_. He had been lucky to avoid the knife, but missing the chair had been too close to comfort. With reason. So, he opted to not get his flatmate involved.

What to do? What to do?

He couldn't go to the surgery at Bart's; that stunt that Sherlock had pulled off last week had made them eager to let John have a free holiday, not taken out of his allotted time (you could only have so many days on holiday when working at a hospital).

He couldn't go to see his girlfriend; because he currently had no girlfriend, courtesy of Sherlock, the ever-polite flatmate (_thanks a lot_!).

He couldn't go on his laptop; his laptop had been trashed when he had spilt tea over it (for once,_ not _Sherlock's fault) and was currently in some PC World's somewhere being fixed.

He couldn't go see Lestrade; he was on holiday in Barbados, for some reason, with his new partner (who he had repeatedly failed to mention anything about).

He couldn't go out with his friends; his friends were all either working, or otherwise busy, and he had promised he wouldn't drink after he heard about Harry (who was no longer a post-alcoholic).

He couldn't go talk to Mrs Hudson; she had gone to stay at her sister's, or something like that, and wouldn't return till the end of the week (it might have been her son, he could never remember).

The only thing left to do was to clean the kitchen (health hazard!), engage Sherlock in a battle of wits (certain death!), or to do the washing. He sighed, it was Sherlock's turn to do the washing, but Sherlock didn't look like he was going to be helpful soon (or even get up), so it was down to him.

John went upstairs to collect some stuff that needed to be washed. He had soon found enough clothes (no matter how many clothes you wash, there will always be heaps more), and went back to the living room with the heavy basket. He cast a glance at Sherlock, but he was still absorbed with 'thinking', so he decided not to disturb him. John went into the kitchen, stubbing his toe on the corner of the table. He cursed under his breath, as a fierce pain shot up his leg and into his brain cells, telling him that his toe was damaged (although it was not, it was neither bleeding or affected very much by the whole experience). But still, his toe_ hurt_. A_ lot_. He hissed through his teeth, and told himself that 'pain is all in the head'. Despite the fact that it sounded like something a tough bully would say, it was true, as far as he knew. Pain was created by the brain to tell you to watch out, because your body was getting damaged. _Stupid brain._

John was about to load the basket of clothes into the washing machine in the kitchen, when he remembered something. Molly's lab coat. Monday, Sherlock had been experimenting in the lab at Bart's, and due to some abandoned experiment (_Sherlock_!); Molly had been covered in Coca-Cola. She had been very wide-eyed, and very,_ very_ sticky. So, as a repayment (of sorts, there was no way he could undo what Sherlock had done), he had told her that he would wash her lab coat for her. She had been very uncertain, but he was determined to at least to something for her. Hell, the stuff Sherlock had put her through; Molly deserved a lot more than an offer to wash her coat. Nevertheless, there was not much else John could have done, so he settled for that.

He got up, and walked back into the living room and towards his armchair. The lab coat in question was draped rather half-heartedly on the back of his chair. He picked it up, and carried it back into the kitchen. It hung rather limply from his arm, but he didn't notice.

John loaded the washing into the washing machine, plus Molly's lab coat, and shut the door loudly. His finger was hovering over the 40-wash button when Sherlock jumped off the sofa suddenly, and shouted at him

"NO JOHN! DON'T PRESS THE-"

But Sherlock's sudden outburst and panicked face had shocked John, and as he turned back to the washing machine, he noticed that he had unwittingly pressed the button. His eyes widened, and he paused only briefly before pressing the STOP button. But, the old machine refused to stop, and was quite determined to wash the clothes, despite John's frantic button-pushing. He turned to Sherlock with a worried look on his face.

"What's going to happen to the clothes?"

Sherlock looked at the ground rather nervously, before looking back up to John.

"I-I might have put red hair dye in there…"

"WHAT!? _Sherlock_!"

Sherlock gave one of his infamous smirks, but only briefly before resting his eyes on the window of the washing machine.

"Oh God John, look!"

John looked. He could see strands of red whirling around, and could see faint marks appearing on the clothes that swirled around and around. He could see the red strands staining the clothes: red and white socks, multi-coloured shirts, Molly's mainly white lab coat. _No_!

John quickly dashed forward, and reached behind the washing machine. He fumbled around a bit, before locating what he was looking for and giving it a sharp _tug_. He leaned back and rested on his knees, a look of triumph on his face as the washing machine slowly ground to a halt. He held the power plug in his hand.

Sherlock frowned slightly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because all that stuff up there" John pointed at Sherlock's head "Isn't useful for here." He said, gesturing at the untidy flat around them. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but not before John caught the beginnings of a smile on his face.

John looked back at the washing machine, which had finished its short cycle, and deemed it safe to open. He opened the door and took out the damp (but not soaking) clothes, and sorted through them to see the damage. The dye wouldn't come out, so he would have to make do with whatever had been spared from the red liquid. He found Molly's lab coat, and unravelled it. And gaped. Molly's lab coat was now a dashing shade of pink!

"Um,_ Sherlock_? What are we going to tell Molly?"

**Enjoy? Oh, okay then. I suppose it wasn't great. So, there is a review boxes down there. You might want to use it. It's not that difficult. Any good's, bad's, do's, don'ts, or any requests or stuff like that is always welcome. If fact, it is encouraged. A lot.  
REVIEW OR BE EXTERMINATED!**


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